Last Stand
by Beka Alcott
Summary: Just a little episode tag for Last Stand, focussing on Sam's reaction to the death of Lantash. Now completed!
1. Chapter 1

**Last Stand**

_Just a little episode tag to Last Stand, the episode where Lantash finally dies in Lieutenant Elliot via symbiote poison. I thought I'd just do a wee ficlet on the effect the mission might have had on Sam._ _Please review!_

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Sam sat down heavily on the bed in her quarters. Her stomach was churning, and it had little to do with not having eaten for God knows how long. 

She closed her eyes, and angrily fought back tears. _No._ She wouldn't let this get to her. She wasn't Jolinar. Lantash was nothing but a . . . a friend of a friend. _Yeah right._

A knock on the door had Sam bolting upright. "Sam?"

Her father. _Great. Just what I need._

"Come in." She called wearily.

The door opened, and Jacob slipped inside. "How are you doing, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." Sam said automatically.

Jacob frowned and looked closely at his daughter's face. No, she wasn't a kid. Far from it. Her youthful complexion held the weary expression of an old soul, with experience of far too much grief for her years. He thought about what had happened earlier. The death of Lantash, Martouf's symbiote, and the Tok'ra's new host, Lt. Elliot. Now _there_ was a kid. He had been too young to die. No doubt Sam's heart was aching with the injustice of that, too.

"How are you doing?" Jacob tried again, moving to sit beside her on the bed.

"I've been better." Sam admitted.

"Elliot will have a hero's funeral." Jacob told her. "Here and with the Tok'ra."

Sam turned to smile grimly at him. "You mean _Lantash_ will have a hero's funeral with the Tok'ra."

Jacob tilted his head. "Yes, but Elliot too. He saved a lot of lives selflessly. That won't be forgotten."

Sam nodded, but said nothing.

"Do you want to come? To Lantash's memorial?" Jacob asked her gently.

Sam flinched almost imperceptibly. "I went to Martouf's. I don't need to do it again."

"Oh?" Jacob raised an eyebrow. He knew what it was to have feelings for two people, within the same body. Selmak's mate, Hyr'oc, had died forty years earlier with his host, Joma. As confusing as that was for the Air Force General, he knew that Sam would be feeling the imprint of Jolinar's love, not just for Martouf, but for Lantash. Losing the latter would be just as significant a blow as the former.

"Sam, it's okay to grieve for Lantash. I know you only thought of him as Martouf, but the two are separate souls, who shared their love for Jolinar. And you. Jolinar loved them both. You must be feeling her grief."

"She's dead. She never grieved for them."

"But she loved them. And you feel the loss of that love now they're both gone. It's okay to let people see that it hurts. They can help."

Sam turned to face him angrily. "Who are you to tell me that? You didn't want to know that it hurt when Mom died! It was all 'suck it up' Sam, 'don't let them see you hurting', and 'Carter's don't cry'."

"I know, but that was a long time ago, and I was wrong. I'm not that person anymore. I've changed. Selmak has changed me."

Sam turned away and tried to blink back the tears, pressing her hands against her face. "I know. I'm sorry."

Jacob stood up, and put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. She turned and gratefully walked into his arms, unable to hold her emotions at bay any longer.

All too soon, Jacob felt her stiffen up, and pull away. "Thanks." She said, wiping her face with the back of her hand, already employing her military borne control to erect her emotional walls again. Jacob was sad to see that. Or at least sad that she didn't feel comfortable letting her own father see her cry. Maybe she'd trust someone else to help her. Maybe Daniel.

"You want some alone time?" He asked gently.

"Yes please." Sam answered, sitting on the bed. She just needed some time to sort her feelings out. Then she'd be fine, just like she always was.

Jacob took a last look at his little girl, all grown up and hurting, and left her. She'd be okay. She was always okay in the end. That's what made her a Carter.

* * *

_That's it, unless in the months to come I suddenly get an urge to do more. Thanks for reading!_

_Beka_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Last Stand - part 2**_

_Okay, so the muse called. I just felt compelled to do more! There'll be at least one other chapter after this one, as well. Hope you like it!  
_

* * *

  
Sam wrapped her arms round her body protectively in the cold February wind. She stood in an small graveyard at the back of a little old stone church. St Barnabus. She remembered going to Sunday school there when she was a kid, a long, long time ago.

She looked at the gravestone at her feet. _Here lies Elizabeth Jean Carter, beloved wife and mother._ It had been too long since she'd last laid flowers at this grave.

Awkwardly, she knelt down. She felt like she should be feeling something. Something other than the emptiness and futility that usually accompanied her on her visits to her mother's grave. She wasn't even sure what had drawn her here.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. The loss of Lantash and Elliot had hit her harder than she'd been expecting, but unlike with her mother's death, she had no particular place to associate with Lantash. Nowhere to hope she might feel his presence in, like many people seemed to at grave sides.

It was odd, she hadn't felt quite the same way when Martouf had died. It had been hard, and she'd struggled with it, but at the time she'd had other things to worry about – namely her forced admission of love for her CO. But now . . . with Lantash gone too, it felt more final. She chuckled humourlessly to herself. This was the closest that she'd come to understanding how Martouf had felt – how he'd taken comfort in the fact that part of Jolinar would live on in her, after the loss of the symbiote who'd taken her as a host. She'd done the same without realising it. The death of Martouf had been muted as Lantash had lived.

She thought of Elliot and blinked back the sting of tears. She supposed that, honestly, Elliot was the reason she was currently kneeling in a graveyard in the cold. Her mom would have understood how she felt about him – that he was far too young to die. That it just wasn't fair.

She gently laid the flowers down in front of the headstone. The card read: _For Mom, Lt. Elliot, Martouf and Lantash. _She felt she should say something – people always seemed to be talking to their dead relatives at gravesides on TV. But somehow it just felt wrong. They weren't here. Nothing would come from talking to dry earth.

She stood up and turned round, only to stop in shock. There was a man standing behind her, some ten feet away, watching her. He smiled uncertainly at her.

"Samantha Carter? I haven't seen you here in a while." Sam gasped – it was the priest. He'd been close to her mom, and he'd officiated over her funeral, and both her children's baptisms.

He was dressed in a light blue shirt with a dog collar and brown corduroys. He looked much older than he had when she'd known him. He had kind blue eyes, but the hair she remembered as a light brown was now a wispy white.

"Father Henry." She greeted him, equally uncertainly. She'd never really got on with him – philosophical differences always getting in the way.

"I'm glad you remember me. I never felt I'd made much of an impression on you."

"I disagreed with you, but that doesn't mean you didn't make an impression." She told him, smiling slightly. Father Henry seemed pleased by this comment.

He nodded at Elizabeth Carter's grave. "You've come to visit your mom, I take it?"

Sam shrugged. "Sort of."

Nathan Henry gave Sam an inquisitive look. "Something on your mind, Sam?"

Sam hesitated. "Yeah, I guess. Nothing I can talk about, though."

"Sam, Sam, Sam. You never could talk to me, could you?" Nathan Henry said sadly.

"This time it isn't about my lack of faith, Father. I'm not allowed to talk about it, it's classified information."

"Oh? How about you give me the _un_classified version? Over coffee?"

Sam looked at him for a moment. She couldn't believe she was considering this, but it would be really great to just talk to someone who didn't know about her complex history with Lantash, Martouf, and Jolinar. Just to talk about . . . how empty she felt without them.

"Sure. Why not?"

* * *

_So, what did you think? Please please please review! I haven't had any for this story yet and I'd really love to know what you think of it!_

_Beka_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Last Stand - part 3_**

_I'd completely forgotten about this story, but I got a review for it a few hours ago that reminded me, and I thought I'd do what the review asked and finish it off. I hope its ok. The point of this story was for Sam to find closure, and I'd kind of abandoned it just before it got to that point, so I'm sorry for leaving it so long. Happy New Year!  
_

* * *

Sam wrapped her icy fingers around her mug of coffee, hoping the heat from the brown liquid would seep through the china into the rest of her body. Father Henry sat down across from her in the cosy living room and poked at the fire.

"I'm sorry about the cold, I'm afraid my central heating has packed up." He smiled at her. "Come and sit closer to the fire, you'll be warmer here." He said, and out of a habit for obeying orders, she complied.

Settled now in an armchair opposite the old man, she watched him. He seemed very comfortable with the situation, which had her a little unbalanced. She wasn't used to people being comfortable talking about death, although, when she thought about, it made sense that an ageing priest would be.

"How's the coffee?" Father Henry asked her, turning his attention away from the crackling fire to his guest.

"Fine, thank you." She smiled.

"It's not often people ask for just coffee these days. It's always iced tea; very bizarre, particularly in weather like this."

Sam smiled again. She could tell he was trying to make her feel more at ease with him, but, as it was, she was feeling more apprehensive by the minute.

"So, Samantha, why are you here?" He asked suddenly, and Sam was a little whiplashed by his sudden directness.

"I …" She started, and then couldn't make more words form. She sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." She stood up to leave. "Thank you, very much, for your kindness, but I really can't talk about this."

"Samantha, wait." Father Henry stood up to, a little more slowly than her due to his age. He took her hands. "Is there anyone else you can talk to about it? And I mean _really_ talk to?"

Sam thought about it. Daniel's face was the first that popped into her mind. _Why hadn't she talked to Daniel?_ And then she remembered – Sarah. Daniel's old flame was still host to the Goa'uld Osiris, and ever since they'd got back, he'd been holed up in his office trying hard not to think about her. She felt a momentary surge of guilt that she hadn't stayed at the SGC to make sure he was ok. She knew the colonel would look out for him, but still … she was his friend, she shouldn't have run off like that.

Next, Sam thought of Teal'c. She could have talked to him, but she didn't. While she knew Teal'c would have listened, she sometimes found it hard to open up to him about personal feelings. Maybe it was because the jaffa was an intensely private man, who never sought counsel for his feelings himself. Or maybe on some level she still felt she had something to prove to him, and didn't want to appear weak. She shifted uncomfortably at that thought.

And then there was the colonel. No chance there.

"No, I guess not." She conceded. Father Henry gestured back at the chairs by the fire. Sam reluctantly nodded and sat down.

The old priest didn't say anything else, he just listened. He listened to Sam talk about a man she had once loved, and how she lost him, thinking he only cared for her as a friend. She told him that very recently, someone who knew him very well had told her that her lost love had in fact loved her too, and it had rocked her to her core. She told him about a young soldier, who was on his first mission, who fought to the end but eventually died. She had been with him as they tried to escape from being cornered by the enemy, and in the end he had given his life to save her. It had almost killed her to leave him there.

When she stopped talking, she realised she was crying. She reached forward and plucked a tissue from the box on the table, apologising.

"Don't apologise Samantha, you've had a rough week." He said kindly, leaning forward. "Why did you come to see your mother after all this?"

Sam thought about how to answer that. "Neither of the men I just talked about have graves. I wanted to be close to them and I didn't know where else to go."

Father Henry nodded. "Or maybe you wanted to tell someone who you knew wouldn't judge you. Like your mother."

Sam looked up at him, frowning. "Someone who wouldn't judge me?"

"That's why you're not having this conversation with a friend, isn't it? I've talked to quite a few military men, Sam, and I'm used to the mentality. I believe 'show no weakness' is quite a common philosophy. Your father certainly employed that one."

She chuckled humourlessly. "You may have a point."

"What you have to remember now, Sam, is that however painful recent events have been, both the man you loved and the boy who saved you are now at peace."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I know you're not particularly religious, but I know that when you were fifteen and your mother passed away, you believed in heaven. And I'm betting you still do."

"I don't know what I believe." Sam admitted.

"Do you believe that your mother's soul still exists in some form somewhere?" Father Henry asked.

"Yes."

"Then why not in heaven, and why not in peace?" He concluded with a smile.

Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he was right. Maybe they were all at peace now. Martouf and Lantash and Lt. Elliot. Maybe it was ok to let them go.

She blinked back tears, and looked up at the priest. "Thank you." She whispered.

Father Henry smiled and nodded.

And with that she went back to the SGC, and finally let herself, and Jolinar, grieve for the men they'd lost.

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_Hope that completes the story satisfactorily_. _Please, if you have the time, review this story. I've never done anything quite like it before, and I'd love to know what people thought of it. I've only had a few reviews for the first two chapters, but they were some of the most interesting reviews I've had for any of my stories._

_A special thank you to Memories of the Bittersweet for reminding me!_

_Beka  
_


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